


Killing James Bond

by SunStoneSpark



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: 007 Fest, 007 Fest 2020, Gen, Team Civilian, also i haven't seen skyfall in a while so apologies if my timeline's broken, double-ohs die sometimes and honestly it shouldn't be a shock to anybody, even if this time they're not really dead, mi6 has some dumb office politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:21:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25108396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunStoneSpark/pseuds/SunStoneSpark
Summary: It turns out that MI6 doesn't take kindly to their poster boy being shot.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	Killing James Bond

**Author's Note:**

> Ooooooh my goodness i can't believe we're a week into 007 fest and this is my first piece for it! (i've not been productive ;-;)  
> Happy Moneypenny Monday though! I love her too much to just let today pass without some sorta fic, however short <3

Moneypenny watches him fall. He’s knocked off in the time it takes her to blink. And suddenly he’s gone, the train rumbling past. She doesn't think she’s really done it at first, the adrenaline surging her system. Her hands remain still, her breathing even, masterfully trained.

It was a good, clean shot. _Perfect,_ had she not hit the wrong man.

M, understandably, does not welcome her back with open arms. Neither does anyone in MI6. It’s an accident, and these things do happen, but it’s one thing to hear that in theory, and another thing to have a legend shot by another agent in practice. They don’t mean to bristle at her, but they do, regardless. There’s snide jokes in the canteen, avoiding her in corridors.

_It’s MI6_ , Moneypenny reasons, _it’s MI6_ , one of the most elite institutes in the country, and they’re acting like bloody children about it. It’s the sort of Eton schoolboy jostling one’d expect in the Houses of Parliament, not here, of all places.

Tanner pulls her aside from her work one afternoon. He’s bought her a small chocolate desert from the local Waitrose in some odd reconciliation, which doesn't help her feelings about playground drama, and tells her that it was going to happen sometime, and honestly, Bond was a little past his due date in the first place, and not to worry about it, bad luck and all that.

Moneypenny mulls over his words for the rest of the day. She’d still killed a man. Perhaps a certain level of reprehensibility wasn’t undeserved? At least the chocolate did a remarkably good job at soothing her concerns, for the time being.

She’s been on desk duty since she came back. Middle management paperwork, and she’s been miserable about it. Filling out revenue reports for departments she’s not allowed to work with anymore was not the life expected of somebody who’d been fast tracked to MI6 from her second year at uni. The days were a goddamn dirge at that pace.

M had explained to her that it was only temporary. A six month suspension from active duty, ( _‘to recover’_ , apparently) , then she would be re-evaluated and placed accordingly. But a fine chance of that happening. M played favourites, it was no secret, and, pushed to it, she’d play least favourites too. Moneypenny was under no illusion about which category she fell into.

So it became about planning and waiting out the time.

In those months, field work began to lose it’s shine. They lost another double-oh barely two months after Bond. Tortured, apparently. Given the choice to defect, but declined. He was sent back in pieces.

It’s not that Moneypenny fears the consequence, the failed missions in favour of Queen and country, rather that she begins to find some enjoyment in desk duty. Even working at a lowly post, and with her infamy dimming over time, she realises she’s a valuable information broker. A lot of details go by her station that really shouldn’t. There’s a staggering lack of tech competency in the office, and because of it, she’s forwarded more confidential details than one person should ever have to see. Whatever secrets she wants, she can have. _Within reason_ , of course.

Before she realises it, the six month evaluation arrives.

It’s the standard, physical tests, psychological checkups. The physical ones go without issue, endurance and agility tests that push her to her limits, leave her limbs aching and raw, but satisfied. The shooting trials are even better. She secures clean, center mass shots on every target except one, where she hits right between the eyes. Her instructor tells her off for getting cocky. She says that was the point.

It’s always the psychological that trips her up. The stark white room, the doctor with glassy eyes. The bloody word association games.

“James Bond?”

Moneypenny’s breath stills.

“ _Dead.”_

M’s office is quiet. There’s a distant drone of electronics, the soft, slow whir of air conditioning. M sits behind her desk, leafing through a file she’s already looked through twice in the past minute. Moneypenny sits opposite. Her back is rigid and upright, legs crossed tightly.

“You’ll want to know how you did?”

Moneypenny smiles, looks down a little, and shakes her head. “I’d actually like to stay on desk work.”

M just hums an agreement, placing her hand over the large stamp on the front of the file. _Approved._ Even had Moneypenny not made the request, M would’ve denied her anyway. Her proclivity for information gathering was a little too valuable to let go. So the choice was biased, and perhaps unprofessional, but hadn't M managed to make such a glorious career playing favourites? And if a position as M’s personal secretary just happened to open up in the next few weeks, such a thing could only be called coincidental.

And when Bond comes back, all those months later, with the revelation he was having a (presumably) splendid time getting hammered and shagging every local within a ten mile radius, Moneypenny makes sure she gets the last word on his ‘murder’.


End file.
